


Backhand

by unsettled



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Face Slapping, Kinktober, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: It’s harder than Tony thought, being capable of hurting Peter. Even if Peter is asking him for it, literally.It’s easier than he thought to make Peter bleed.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Backhand

"Tony," Peter says, "I promise, I really want you to do this."

"I know you want it," Tony says. "It's not— I don't want to actually hurt you, Peter."

Peter just gazes up at him, kneeling so prettily at Tony's feet. "You—" Peter stops, makes a face. "Uh. I mean. I'm kind of hoping you will? But you're not going to... damage me. You know how I heal."

He does. He knows, and outside the suit, he's nowhere near a match for Peter. It's not even like this is something he's hesitated at before, with others, but this is  _ Peter.  _ This is Peter, and even if Tony knows what he is, he still looks so fucking breakable.

"You don't have to," Peter says after a beat, tension starting to bunch up his shoulders again. "It was just... a thought. That's all." Except it's not, and Tony knows this. Tony has seen how Peter gets, how he goes all boneless when Tony gets rougher, how he moans right after he tells Tony it hurts. It's not, because Peter came to him and asked for this, nervously, waiting for Tony to tell him it was weird; uncertain, but he'd asked anyway.

"Fuck," Tony says. "Ok kid, we'll give it a go," and the way Peter lights up proves Tony right.

He catches Peter's chin and tips his face up further. "You talk to me though," he tells Peter. "I mean it. The second it's not fun anymore, if it hurts like something's wrong— you tell me, Peter."

"Promise," Peter says, and closes his eyes, face turned up even after Tony's let go. Just waiting, quiet and patient and eager.

Tony touches his face, cups his hand around the curve of Peter's cheek and strokes his thumb over Peter's skin, soft.

Pulls his hand back and slaps Peter across the face, hard, the crack of it echoing.

Peter gasps, lurching back and almost overbalancing, his eyes opening. He stares up at Tony, shocked and hurt and there's a bright red imprint on the side of his face, a perfect outline of Tony's hand.

"Well?" Tony asks, heart in his throat.

Peter shivers, a long shudder across his whole body. Settles back into kneeling where he'd been a moment ago, and turns up his face. Closes his eyes.

Offers himself.

It probably says something about himself, Tony thinks, something really ugly, that despite his worries about hurting Peter, about seeing a mark he'd left on Peter and feeling sick about it, he just... wants to do it again.

He does.

Peter is just— he's fucking beautiful, the way he takes it, never flinching from Tony's hand once even though he's got to be able to tell it's coming far more easily than a baseline human. The way he jerks at each blow and immediately brings himself back into position for the next, the way he keeps his eyes closed and his face up and gasps, moans, every time Tony's hand connects with his face.

Fucking beautiful, the way his cheeks redden, start to swell. The helpless little teardrops clinging to his eyelashes, the way he's obviously hard in his pants.

"Tony," Peter whispers between blows, and Tony checks himself, waiting for Peter to ask to stop.

Peter looks at him, the movement of his eyes opening sending those tears sliding down his face. "Harder," he says. "Please, Tony. You can make it hurt."

"Peter," Tony says, cupping his face, and Peter's cheeks are on fire.

Peter turns his face into Tony's hand. "Please," he says, begs, into Tony's palm.

Tony tips his face up; kisses him, soft, the last soft thing he'll give Peter.

His next slap makes Peter yelp, makes his own hand sting, but it's worth it for the way Peter moans a second later.

He's been being careful, so careful with Peter, to keep his aim exact, to not cause any real damage, to pull his blows just a bit. Peter can take it, but he's still been careful. And even now, with permission—more than permission— it's a hard habit to break. It's hard not to think of what could happen is he's careless about where his hand lands.

It's easier when he lets his aim drift just a bit, Peter's lip splitting at the off center hit, and Peter just moans, tongue darting out to lick up that slow drip of blood. "Tony," Peter says, and he normally only sounds like that when Tony's balls deep in him. He backhands Peter, almost as hard as he can, and Peter's head snaps back as he falls over, gasping. Brings a hand—shaking, faintly—up to his cheek, barely touching the mark that's already turning dark while he lies there, awkwardly, and whimpers.

Pushes himself up, swaying a little, and sinks back onto his knees.

It's easier, after that.

Tony goes at him, keeps at it until he almost can't, his hands stinging, nearly numb, even on the backhands. Peter'll have a black eye in a few hours, maybe two of them; there's another split in his lip, a long smear down his mouth and chin from a bloody nose, and judging by the way Peter had practically screamed at one point, when Tony’s hand struck too far back, his eardrum might have ruptured. He can barely stay upright, barely keep his head up, swaying and nearly falling with every strike, his face wet with tears and blood, and he's still hard.

"Baby," Tony says, catching Peter's chin. Peter blinks up at him, dazed.

"You could get a ring," Peter says, like Tony's actually asked him a question. "Get one with a big stone. You could make me bleed, Tony," he says, and he sounds as fucking out of it as he looks.

Tony shakes his head, half denial and half disbelief. "I could put your eye out, you mean," he says. "You're already bleeding."

"You wouldn't," Peter murmurs, his eyes sliding closed. "You're always so careful with me."

"Jesus, Peter," Tony says. "I'm beating you up like— I've already made you bleed, I'm not being careful with you."

Peter smiles, small and sweet and pulling open the split on his bottom lip again. "Yes you are."

"I'm not going to get a ring," Tony tells him, and it's ridiculous how Peter nearly pouts at that. He catches Peter's hair, pulling at it and tilting Peter's head back, further than before, bracing the side of Peter's face along his forearm. "But I'll make you bleed some more."

When he hits Peter like that, there's no give, nowhere for Peter's head to go and escape a little of the force behind it. It hurts his hand too, like hitting a wall, but Peter gasps and sobs and bleeds, skin breaking open over his cheekbone, at the corner of his eye, Peter's hands coming up to cling to Tony. His grip is tight, painfully so, and only gets tighter, Peter shuddering, pulling against Tony's grip in his hair, his eyelashes fluttering wildly. He moans, louder than before at Tony's next slap, and Tony stills. Glances down, just in time to watch Peter's hips buck up, to watch Peter come, completely untouched below the neck; he digs his fingers into the swollen tenderness of Peter's cheek and Peter sobs.

There's nothing for it, then, because how is Tony supposed to have any sort of self control left? He fumbles at his pants, nearly ripping the button off as he struggles to get them open enough to get his cock out, so hard it fucking hurts, so hard he probably won't need more than a minute to get off. Frees it, finally, and presses it against Peter's lips, against those swollen, blood streaked lips. Peter doesn't need anything more than that, opening his mouth and letting Tony slide in; he's too done in to be much of an active participant, but that's not something Tony even needs right now.

He takes Peter's face in his hands, holding him in place with his fingers pressed firmly into the redness of Peter's cheeks. Peter makes a muffled sound around his cock, a pained, pleased noise, and is nothing more than a hot, wet, perfect hole for Tony to fuck into. So, so fucking perfect, sloppy and beautiful and happy to be used like this, and Tony was right, he's coming all too soon, yanking Peter down on his cock and holding him there as he chokes and whines.

"Fuck," Tony breathes, pulling out of Peter's mouth. Peter can't even hold his head up, sagging in Tony's hands. He's a mess, battered and swollen and bleeding, spit and come on his chin, blood on his face. "You really think this is being careful with you, kid?"

Peter doesn't even open his eyes, but he smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You'll take care of me."

"Of course I will," Tony says, even if that's not the same as careful. "Always, baby."

And he does.


End file.
